Home

Photo: Steven Long

Yesterday I wrote how much I love New York. And every word of it was true. BUT. There is one place on the planet I love more than this city. It's the little farm you see nestled on the hillside in the photo above. Home.

The land was first settled in 1832, and there never has been a time since when there were no blood relatives living there. For more than 100 years now it's been in the family name. My grandfather was born here; my father grew up here; and I spent much of my childhood here.

I've read the most important things a parent can give a child are roots and wings. My parents definitely provided both. Because my Dad spent his career in the service, I lived in far-flung places on the planet and that, I think, gave me wings. But my roots go deep into the soil of this little farm in Pennsylvania. I'm at home in the city and comfortable where ever my travels take me. But I belong to the land above as I belong nowhere else on earth.

This weekend, all my father's siblings are coming in from around the country. I expect this means a lot of cousins will be making their way in, too. And, I hope, my sister and at least one of my brothers, and some of my own little nieces and nephews as well. It will be a family-filled weekend full of hugs and stories (I hope!) and laughter and lots of good food.

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.